


Train Wreck

by randi2204



Category: Gatchaman
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe has come to a most unpleasant realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Train Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All things Gatch belong to Tatsunoko Productions. I'm only borrowing. Really.

Train Wreck

 

It was all just for show.

 

Joe lay curled up on the narrow bed inside his trailer, staring blindly at the opposite wall.  Somehow, he felt . . . wounded inside, like the blood was just draining away and sapping him of his strength.  And that one thought kept pounding in his head; it wouldn’t leave him alone.  _It was all just for show.  All for show._

 

Funny how he’d never realized it before.

 

He flopped onto his back, and covered his eyes with one arm, but that didn’t ease the ache inside him.

 

Any day before today—even today, up until a few hours ago—if asked the purpose of the human heart, Joe Asakura would have glared at his questioner and flatly replied, “To pump blood.”

 

He’d never known that horrible sensation when the heart stopped beating in cold fear for another, nor the sweet pain of relief when that other was unharmed.  All of the girls he’d dated, all of the ones who had been put in danger in some way because of him and he’d _never_ felt that way about any of them, even the ones he thought he’d been in love with.  Because of the high percentage of them that had been enemy agents, he’d privately started calling them the “Galactor Girls.”  Once, when he’d been about three sheets windward, he’d mentioned that to Ken . . . and how Ken had laughed . . .

 

_And it was all for show . . . all of it._

 

He’d thought it was just an expression, your heart in your throat.  But then it had become horrifyingly real.  He had felt his heartbeat throbbing at his temples, had almost choked on his own panic.  The Galactor base had exploded, shooting a fireball into the sky.  He’d tracked it for a split second, trying hard—_so hard_—to show no emotion to the others, huddled behind him, then returned to frantically scanning the ground around the ruins for any flash of white . . .

 

The sudden release of tension when Ken had dashed into their midst had nearly made him faint.  But then it had become business as usual, as Ken had ordered them back to the God Phoenix, and Ryu had flown them home, and he’d pushed everything down, hoping to forget about it.

 

He’d been in the shower, back at his trailer, sluicing away the sweat and dirt of the mission when he’d begun to shake.  The water was little more than lukewarm when he’d finally been able to stop.

 

All those girls.  So many dead.  And all of it, all of them just for show.

 

Because he’d fallen in love with his own brother long ago, and never even known it.

 

“Fu—ck.”  The drawn out curse didn’t make him feel any better, though it usually did.  He pulled his arm away from his eyes, let it curl over the top of his head as he studied the featureless ceiling, and scowled ferociously at his thoughts.

 

_Why was everything today so different from any other time, any other mission?_ he wondered.  There had been many other times when Ken had been in danger, when he’d almost . . . died . . .

 

No, he realized, that wasn’t true.  None of the other times had been as close as today, but, in addition, almost every other time Ken had had one of the others to back him up.  _Not that he really needs backup,_ Joe conceded, _but when he _has_ it, it makes me feel better . . ._

 

_Oh, Christ._  He groaned softly and closed his eyes again.  _Now I know I’ve really gone over the edge . . ._

 

Those deep breathing techniques that Hakase wanted them to learn may have worked in theory, but in reality?  He wasn’t even sure he _could_ breathe now, the way it felt like everything was pressing in on him.

 

_I don’t want to . . . to be in love with Ken.  I don’t_.

 

_But you are,_ another corner of his mind replied smugly.  _You’ve got it bad.  Why fight it?_

 

_It isn’t_ normal. 

 

_What _has_ been ‘normal’ about our lives so far?_

 

_I don’t care about that; what I’m used to is what’s normal.  Now everything’s going to change . . ._

 

_Oh?_ The other voice was practically purring.  _And why is that?_

 

Joe shifted uncomfortably, hoping that if he just closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t hear it, it would go away. 

 

But it would not stop pestering him.  _Why?_ it persisted.  _Come on, why?_

 

Ignoring it obviously wasn’t going to work.  Finally, he burst out, “Because I _want_ him!”  He squeezed his eyes shut.  “In one day, in one _instant_, I realized I loved him, that I _wanted_ him, and I almost lost him!  Are you fucking _satisfied_?!”

 

Without another word, the voice disappeared into whatever perverted corner of his mind had conjured it, leaving him feeling foolish and alone.

 

It was unsettling indeed to discover how his subconscious had been working all this time.  _I want his touch_, he thought numbly, _and that’s why I’m always so ready to fire the missiles without authorization.  I know Ken will fight me.  He’ll grab me and shove me, and oh, God, it’s twisted, but at least I’m close to him for those few moments_ . . .

 

_Because I_ want_ him more than I’ve wanted any woman.   I love him, and I want him, and now I’m all fucked up.  God!_ He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to banish the thought.  _What do I DO?_

 

He couldn’t even equate the situation to what he’d do if Ken was a woman—most of the time, the women were throwing themselves at _him_, not the other way around.

 

Not that he could exactly picture _throwing_ himself at Ken.

 

_Well . . . maybe it’s still a place to start . . . even if he _is_ a guy.  All of the women I’ve dated were good looking; that’s why I was . . . attracted . . . to them in the first place._  _And Ken _is_ pretty, I have to admit._  Joe smiled slightly, his face relaxing into the unaccustomed expression.  _I could get into kissing him . . . maybe even more . . ._ And he let his mind drift into a brief dream of what kissing Ken might be like.  For a few brief seconds, it was pleasant, then fantasy-Ken pushed him away and slugged him.  Joe opened his eyes with a start, and found his heart thudding hard, as if the imagined rejection had been real.

 

_He’s going to beat the hell out of me.  I know it.  If I even _hint_ that I’m thinking about him that way, I’m a fucking dead man._  The thoughts formed in his head with perfect clarity, perfect certainty.

 

_Shit.  He’s probably trying to figure out how to get into Jun’s pants right now._  The very idea hurt in ways that it wouldn’t have before today.  Yesterday, it would have even been amusing, and he would have laughed to think that Ken was burning brain cells to get what Jun would gladly give.

 

But today was a different story altogether.

 

Undirected anger drove him to pound his fist into the side of the trailer.

 

The knock on the trailer door followed the blow so quickly that at first Joe thought it was just an odd echo.  Then he recognized it for what it was, and swung himself up off the bunk to answer it, feeling his heart do a strange little double beat as he did.

 

It was the knock he’d come to associate with Ken, a couple of no-nonsense raps, solid and strong.

 

His mind was so focused on the knowledge that it was Ken that he didn’t notice his undress until the cool air from the open door hit his bare chest.  He’d pulled on his jeans after his shower, but they hung low on his hips, unfastened, and he hadn’t bothered with his shirt.  Quickly, he hitched his pants up so he was a bit more decent. 

 

As expected, Ken was standing outside in his civvies, his flyaway hair waving in the gentle breeze.  His eyes were serious—_seriously blue_, Joe thought, distracted, then swiftly followed that with _don’t go there_. 

 

Hoping that none of what he’d been thinking showed on his face, Joe nodded in acknowledgement.  “Ken.”  He leaned one arm against the doorframe.

 

Ken nodded in return.  “Joe.  I have to ask you something about today.  Can I come in?”

 

A shiver of trepidation hit him at the words.  They followed so closely on the heels of what he had been thinking about that he could connect them with nothing else.  But he could betray no hint of _that_.  “Sure.” Joe stepped back, taking the opportunity to zip his jeans while hidden behind the door. 

 

At his invitation, Ken climbed into the trailer and sat on the bed.

 

Joe tried hard not to show his surprise.  _After all, it’s really the only place to sit, so cool it,_ he told himself.  _He has no idea . . ._ Repeating this thought, he took up his usual position, leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed over his chest.  “So?  What is it?”

 

Ken leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  He was frowning slightly.  “What happened today?  I told you that if I wasn’t at the meeting place when the base blew to leave.  Why didn’t you?”

 

Joe let out a short bark of incredulous laughter.  “Shit! Are you going to lecture me here, too?  Like I don't get enough of that anywhere else.”

 

“I’m not going to lecture you.  Really.  I just want to know why.”  Ken's voice wasn’t hard or harsh, as it usually was when he was upbraiding one of the team; it wasn't his “Gatchaman” tone, as Joe and the rest of the team called it.  It was just . . . Ken’s normal voice.  It was even a bit curious.

 

Joe shrugged and looked away, out the small front window of the trailer.  “I don’t know, Ken.  I guess we were all kind of frozen.”  Well, half a truth was better than none.  _He’d_ certainly been unable to move.

 

“You can’t freeze like that.  This is war.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” he growled out in automatic response to the sanctimonious words.  Damn it, Ken always knew just how to irritate him.

 

He still wasn’t sure how he’d fallen for someone who could be so bossy and annoying.  He kind of hoped that it was just being Gatchaman that made him that way.

 

“If one of the rest of you hadn’t made it back to the meeting place in time, I still would have ordered us to leave.”

 

“Forgive me for not being as cold-blooded as you!” Joe grated out, facing Ken again.

 

Ken sat up straight, mouth agape.  “Cold-blooded . . .” For a bare instant, Joe swore he saw a flash of hurt cross Ken’s face, but before he could be sure, it was gone, and Ken was wearing his stony Gatchaman mask.  “Fine, if that’s what you think it is.”  He stood up.

 

Joe stared at him, stunned.  It almost sounded like Ken _had_ been hurt by his words.  His mouth opened, but no sound escaped.

 

“Just remember my orders the next time, Joe.  One of these times, I’m not going to make it out, and you’re going to have to be the leader.  Just what you always wanted,” he finished snidely.  He wore a scowl worthy of Joe as he stepped toward the door, which Joe was blocking.  “I’m leaving.”

 

_One of these times, I’m not going to make it out . . ._ The words echoed in his head.  It felt like Ken had punched him in the gut so hard he’d knocked the wind out of him.  He couldn’t get any air . . .

 

“I _said_ I’m leaving.” Ken was glaring at him when Joe finally managed to focus again, and looked up.  He saw Ken blink in confusion, perhaps at Joe’s own expression, then he raised a hand to push Joe out of his way.

 

Joe grabbed Ken’s wrist through habit alone, not even thinking about it. “Wait . . .” he gasped, having found some way to breathe again.

 

Ken sighed, but did not try to pull his hand away.  “If we’re going to fight, let’s at least do it outside.”

 

Joe shook his head.  It was surprising, the amount of fright that Ken’s words had stirred up, sent his mind running in circles until he could see only one way out.  The hard way.  “No, we’re not going to fight.” He released Ken’s wrist.  “Sorry.”

 

Ken eyed him warily.  “Who are you and what have you done with the real Condor?”

 

Joe rolled his eyes.  “Ha-ha.  Funny.  Just sit down.”

 

“I was being serious.”  But Ken sat back down on the bed just the same, and Joe resumed his stance by the door, studying the floor.

 

Where to begin?  How do you tell someone who has always been a brother that suddenly you’d like to be something . . . else?  Something more?

 

“Ken, sometimes I disobey your orders because I think you’re wrong.  Sometimes I do it just for the hell of it, or to make you mad, or . . . whatever.  But today wasn’t like any of that.” He glanced up.

 

Ken looked puzzled, his eyebrows knit in thought.  “I know all that.  So what was today?”

 

Joe took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.  _Here goes,_ he thought.  “Today was . . . different, because it wasn’t intentional.  I froze because I was worried about you.  I was even . . . scared for you, because . . .”

 

“You what?” Ken’s puzzlement had melted into amazement.

 

“Because I love you.”  Christ, that had been hard to say.  He risked another glance at Ken, hoping to at least be prepared for the attack when it came.

 

But apparently, it wasn’t going to be yet.  Ken was still half lost, confused at his words, but grinning at him despite it.  “I love you, too, Joe.  But you still can’t freeze like that, just because we’re brothers . . .”

 

It was Joe’s turn to sigh.  “Idiot.  Not like brothers, like this.” And before Ken could move, he swooped in, quick as lightning, wrapped one hand around the nape of Ken’s neck and kissed him.  He had an impression of wide blue eyes before he closed his own and threw everything he had, everything he felt, into that kiss.  Ken’s lips had been slightly parted, as if he were about to speak, when Joe’s descended over them, and Joe took advantage of it, working his tongue into the other’s mouth, to dance over his teeth and tongue.

 

There was an understandably muffled noise.

 

He felt a sharp tug as one of Ken’s hands found its way into his hair, but until it really started pulling, he wasn’t going to stop kissing.  Even if it was forced, it was a hundred times better than his little fantasy earlier.  A thousand times better.  He felt the vibration of a growl, deep in his throat, as he used his superior position and leverage to push Ken down.  Joe never noticed as the hand that had captured Ken slowly wound itself deeper into the dark hair, cradling his head, while his other lifted to cup Ken’s cheek, holding him lightly in place, but more an excuse to touch any bare skin.

 

Almost as soon as his lips touched Ken’s, arousal started to race through him, little sparks behind his eyelids, blood concentrating in his belly, his groin.  The feelings were heightened by the slide of fabric against his bare chest, firming his nipples and making him shiver. 

 

Unbidden and unwelcome, the thought came that he’d best end it before he really lost it.  He wanted to ignore it, just go on kissing Ken forever.  But the need to breathe was getting to be a problem, too.  So he gentled his mouth against Ken’s, trying to slow the kiss to a stop, rather than just slam on the breaks, so to speak.

 

After a few more moments, his lips were just brushing Ken’s, and then, panting, he lifted his head and looked down.  His senses were so rocked by the kiss, the reality of it, that he thought, just for a second, that Ken had responded . . .

 

_No,_ Joe thought, denying the faint hope.  _He couldn’t have.  I imagined it._

 

Sometime during the onslaught, Ken had closed his eyes.  Now, they fluttered open, and he blinked up at Joe in astonishment, his breath coming fast.  One of his hands had indeed worked into his thick hair, Joe confirmed, while the other was caught between their bodies, warm against his stomach.

 

Before Ken could speak, Joe said, his voice low, “Okay.  You can send me to the hospital now.”  His fingers refused to stop caressing that smooth cheek, though.

 

Ken was still dazed, perhaps from lack of oxygen.  “What?”

 

Joe pushed himself a little further away, reluctantly moving his hands away as well so he could brace himself on his forearms.  The movement did . . . intriguing things to him, the way it pressed their hips together, but he attempted to ignore it, and managed to, if just barely.  “I mean, you can beat me up now.  You know, for insulting your manhood and all that.”  He made no attempt to escape, however, or to let the other up, nor did Ken move.

 

He drank in Ken’s appearance, to savor later, while healing.  His hair was a bit more disheveled than usual, his eyes still wide, and oh, so blue, his cheeks slightly flushed, but whether from embarrassment, arousal or anger, Joe couldn’t tell.  He rather hoped it was arousal . . .

 

“I suppose I could.”  In an instant, Ken had found enough leverage to flip them over, so he was on top, trapping Joe beneath him, grabbing both hands and pinning them to the bed.  Eyes intent, he studied Joe’s face.

 

Joe tensed, instinct and training telling him to fight back, then he forced himself to relax.  _This is it,_ he thought, a bit sadly.  _Goodbye, KNT; hello, ICU._

 

But Ken did nothing, merely looked down at him, face carefully blank.  Wondering what he was thinking, Joe started to sweat.  The position, the pressure of Ken over him, _God_, he could feel himself getting hard, and prayed that Ken would just _not_ notice.

 

Finally, his voice as expressionless as his face, Ken said, “You’re a pretty good kisser.”

 

Nonplussed, Joe replied, “Thanks.”

 

Ken pulled back a little.  “I enjoyed it.”

 

“Good.”  _Oh, _shit_, Ken, don’t move like that,_ he thought desperately.  _Or I will find a way to flip you over . . ._

 

Suddenly, Ken released his hands and sat up, still straddling his hips.  “But . . . I can’t.”

 

“Can’t . . . what?” Joe asked, forgetting about what Ken’s movements had done to him as his heart dropped.  _For an organ I hadn’t considered before,_ he thought irrelevantly, _it’s sure getting a lot of mileage today . . ._

 

At last, he could read Ken’s face, and he looked troubled, almost upset.  “I can’t be involved.  Not with you, not with Jun, even if I were interested.  I can’t be tempted to put someone . . .”

 

“Stop—what do you mean, _if_ you were interested?” Joe asked, almost daring to hope again.  He propped himself up on his elbows.

 

Ken shook his head.  “I’m not interested in Jun.  But I can’t be interested in you, either.”

 

“Can’t? Or aren’t?”

 

“Can’t.”

 

“Does that mean you _are_?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Joe.”  He looked away as he spoke, and his tone was tightly controlled.  “I can’t be interested in _anyone_, off the team or on.  Especially not on.  Our mission has to come first.”

 

Joe scowled.  “I’m not talking about missions, I’m not talking about G-1 and G-2, I’m talking about _us_, Ken and Joe.  Why can’t you be interested in me?” _Damn it, Ken,_ he thought angrily, _can’t you tell that this is _important_?_

 

Ken flung himself away, scrambling to his feet. “Because I _can’t_!” he cried.  “Because if I let myself . . .” Quickly, he snapped his mouth closed and turned to fumble with the door.

 

Joe jumped off the bed, and braced his hand against the door, slamming it shut again.  “No,” he snarled, at the end of his rather short rope.  “You are not leaving until you make sense!”  He glared, but it had no effect, as Ken had turned his back.  He concentrated on breathing deeply for a moment, willing the anger to subside slightly.  Maybe those exercises worked after all, because when he spoke again, his voice was calmer.  “If you let yourself . . .”

 

Ken’s back stiffened, but he said nothing.

 

More deep breaths.  “You know you’re not leaving here until you explain,” he said, though he knew it was never a good idea to push Ken too far.  He took a step closer, and his voice fell to a basso murmur.  “And I want to understand, Ken.”

 

The broad shoulders slumped.  “How can _you_ understand if _I_ don’t?” he asked, and his lost-sounding tone surprised Joe.

 

Before he could say anything to that, though, Ken continued, “Because how can I call myself Gatchaman if I have to fight myself on every mission in order to let the one I care about do what he needs to do to have that mission succeed?  How can I let him endanger his life . . .” He choked and stopped abruptly, realizing what he was saying, and bowed his head as if ashamed.

 

Joe laid a hand on Ken’s shoulder, half expecting him to shake it off, and felt the tension thrumming through him.  Some sort of weird, cautious elation had started to course through him in response to Ken’s words, and a thousand lame things wanted to trip off his tongue, filled with how he felt and sappy as hell.

 

But he _knew_ Ken, knew him as well as he knew himself, and he was certain that Ken believed that caring for someone—teammate or not—was a failing, something that the enemy could exploit, because that was how he thought.  Everything was black and white, good and bad, and showing a weakness that Galactor could use against them was definitely _bad_.

 

Joe’s head was whirling with thoughts, too fast for him to grab on to any one of them and make sense of it.  Except one.

 

_I can’t be interested in you . . ._ probably meant that he _was_.

 

And he _knew_ Ken needed some kind of reassurance, _words_, more than just a touch on the shoulder, something to let him see that it was all right to care, to be interested, that it would strengthen him, maybe . . .

 

“It’s only a weakness if you let it be.”

 

The words were spoken before he even knew he was going to say anything.  He’d no idea from where they had appeared—they sounded like they came from a romance novel or some overly dramatic movie scene, and Joe immediately wanted to crawl under the trailer and hide forever, lest Ken think he actually _looked_ at that kind of trash.  The silence between them deepened, and he started to wish he’d said nothing, to think that he didn’t know Ken as well as he thought.

 

Then the tension in Ken melted away beneath his hand, and he was treated to a dazzling smile as Ken turned to face him again.  Unsure of just what that smile meant, wrapped in his own lingering confusion, Joe stared at him dumbly, mouth open slightly to draw enough air.

 

Because if Ken while puzzled or in doubt was pretty . . . Ken like this was fucking _beautiful_.

 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“Huh?” _Oh, _brilliant_ comeback, Asakura . . ._

 

“That you knew what I was thinking.” The smile was gone from his lips as quick as it had appeared, but it still remained in his eyes. 

 

Joe relaxed, because he _knew_ that it would be all right now.  He didn’t know _how_, but he just knew.  Even if nothing else came of it, everything would be all right between them again.  Because he _did_ know Ken, and there was some part of him that would be content with what he had—a friendship as close as brotherhood.

 

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t try for more one last time.

 

Standing so close to Ken was doing things to him, just as that innocent little wiggle had done before, but he knew if he gave in and tried to kiss him again, he’d probably wind up with his face pushed to the floor, arms twisted behind him and Ken kneeling on his back.  So instead, he controlled his impulses—something he wasn’t really used to doing—and said, with an air of false innocence, “You know, you still haven’t said if this discussion is just abstract for you or not.”

 

Ken smiled again, albeit a bit sardonically.  “You mean you couldn’t tell?”

 

He grinned widely.  “Well, I was _hoping_ that when you said you can’t, you meant you _are_.”  Then he let the grin fade away and reached out to touch Ken’s cheek.  _So much for impulse control._  “So . . . does that mean I can kiss you again?” he asked, his voice falling to an even deeper register than usual.

 

Immediately, Ken stepped away, shaking his head, but he was still smiling as he did so.  “You just don’t get it, do you?”

 

“Maybe not right now,” Joe replied with an insouciant grin, and arched one eyebrow.  “But I probably will eventually . . .”

 

A blush at his crude innuendo stained Ken’s cheeks, and within seconds, Joe _did_ find himself flat on the floor, except Ken was kneeling on his front, not his back, effectively pinning his arms and legs and not allowing him a centimeter of slack.  This repetition of how Ken had held him down on the bed made his body remember just how excited it was, and he shivered, even as he felt himself heat once more.

 

He licked his lips and looked up and his heart nearly stopped.  Ken was leaning down over him, wearing a look that only a predator would dare—a grin as wolfish as one of Joe’s own.  Their lips nearly touched as Ken whispered, “Maybe I want to pay you back for the first one . . .”

 

***

April 26, 2005


End file.
